


Can and Will Be Used Against You

by gross_batpanda



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Coming Untouched, Consensual Kink, Cop Fetish, Cop Washington, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Discussion of prison rape, Facials, Handcuffs, Inappropriate Use of Nightsticks, M/M, Non/Dub-Con Roleplay, Object Penetration, Police Uniforms, Sexual Roleplay, Sexy Mirandizing, Spanking, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Drop, Uniform Kink, hairpulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8084344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gross_batpanda/pseuds/gross_batpanda
Summary: Power turns Ben on. He's dating a cop.
This was bound to happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags: Contains a pre-discussed sexual roleplay scenario in which two consenting adult characters create a circumstance in which they pretend to have a different dynamic.

Power turns Ben on.

That is something George has been privy to since the moment they met. His eyes raked up and down George’s uniform, he froze in the gas station with that same sort of lingering fear that George has long-since come to recognize as someone who isn’t doing anything wrong. He squares his shoulders, straightens his spine and watches Ben nearly crumble beside him.

George waited, idly, for Ben to get bored. To realize George’s nights were long, his hours were erratic, he couldn’t be at Ben’s call. Eventually, he’d assumed Ben would get tired of it, would finish discovering whatever part of him every hot kid in his mid-twenties is trying to discover by banging someone twice their age and leave.

But he didn’t, instead he moved into George’s neat little two-story his brother left him and started leaving post-it’s for George to find when his shift was over. 

There were arrows that led to the fridge, right to a wrapped plate of food topped with a,  _ “I’m (probably) asleep, eat and come join me <3 - B” _

Everything was fine, neat and domestic in ways George never thought he would have. Ben’s hours were steady and even, already on his second start-up after his first sold for a staggering amount of money. Ben cooked or ordered take out, Ben snuggled up to his side and sometimes fell asleep reading books on the couch. They were perfectly boring, for the most part. There was just the one thing.

Power turns Ben on.

Strength turns Ben on.

Not all of their sex is rough, but there have been nights where the buzzing sting in George’s palm pales in comparison to the marks on Ben’s ass, the bruises, the bites. He’s a mottled mess after and yet, it’s George that needs to be held. It’s George that needs Ben’s whispering promises that it was so good, that he was so turned on, that he  _ loves  _ being hit like that. Ben would kiss down his cheek and nuzzle at his temple and say  _ I love you so damn much.  _ He doesn’t complain when George finally snaps out of it and lays Ben down over their bed and tends to his bruises and cleans his bites.

It’s strange, George thinks, but it works.

But this is different - and he’s musing on it in his uniform, being eyed suspiciously by passersby as a grocery basket hangs from the crook of his elbow. Milk, they’re out of milk (Well, they’re out of  _ some  _ milk. One thing they could never agree on was what percentage.) and George is pretending like he doesn’t know that his boyfriend is currently ransacking their living room.

It started out normally - Ben spluttering and choking on begs of  _ faster, sir. Harder, sir.  _ But then it changed, his hiccuped pleads caught on another word, another title.

_ “Fuck me, please, Officer.” _

They worked up from there. Ben would slip in a few ‘officer's’ whenever they’d have a rougher night - then he’d have George wear parts of his uniform. Once, even, Ben had bought some cheap costume nightstick online and made a big show out of blowing it for George. But he can’t think about that now - he can’t think about that in the middle of a rather crowded store in his uniform with his badged pinned to his chest.

The reaction already stirring hot in his gut was too much.

Besides, he was supposed to be pretending, right? Pretending that he lives alone, pretending that he isn’t buying skim milk because it’s what Ben wants to drink. He sets himself into the mindset and heads back towards the check-out. He sets the bag down in the passenger seat of his car and, ever street-light he passes makes his heart beat harder in anticipation. Thudding away in his ears so loud and almost painful that it nearly drives him insane by the time he parks in front of his place.

Jesus, Ben’s even moved his car.

His mouth feels dry, his fingers tremble as he pulls out his keys - only to find the door unlocked.

Inside is already a mess. The papers and books that were on the coffee table in his living room are thrown around - there are drawers pulled out and emptied. A framed painting on the wall is knocked stray and the movie collection has been spread out haphazardly across his floor. Slowly, with his blood roaring, George follows the hallway towards the sounds in his kitchen. Rounding the corner, he sees twice the mess from when he first stepped in and the culprit standing there, red-handed.

Ben (no, not Ben, he corrects himself. A stranger. A punk kid.) is wearing some too-tight torn and faded jeans, scuffed shoes and a ratty Smiths t-shirt that stretches already obscenely across his chest. He looks up with those deer-in-headlights eyes and drops the flashlight that’s in his hands. He looks gorgeous. Terror mixed with arousal making him flush and light up. If this is turning George on, it’s doing ten-fold to him.

“What are you doing in my house?” George asks, pulling himself up to his most intimidating height and using his stiff, authoritative voice. The stranger visibly shivers and backs up, eyes darting towards the side door he’d used to get in. George rounds him slowly, stepping over tossed-aside cutlery to put himself neatly between both exits there are.

He doesn’t get an answer so he asks again: “Well?”

“I - uh. I didn’t know you were,” he pauses to bite his lip, another distant tremble to his body is only just perceivable by George’s well-trained eye. “I didn’t know you were a cop… I didn’t take anything, I swear.”

“Yet. You didn’t take anything yet. You know breaking and entering is still a crime, right, son?”

The intake of breath across the room is audible. Sharp. “Yes,” he lowers his lashes and peers up at George through them, “sir.”

George’s cock has been interested in this since he was rounding the corner to his neighborhood - and now it thickens with a heavy arousal just at the sight before him. The fidgeting, the shifting, the way his neck works as he swallows thick and needy.

“I could radio for back-up right now, have you arrested, thrown in prison.” Each word, George takes a step forward. Until he’s crowding the kid against the counter and towering over him, adrenaline burns with power under his skin. With a loud bang, he plants his hands on the marble on either side of him - caging him. The kid flinches, but doesn’t move away from him when George leans in - breathing hot against his ear: “Do you know what happens to pretty boys like you in prison?”

That soft, pale throat works in another swallow - close enough that if he wanted to, George could lean down and press his lips against his pounding pulse. He doesn’t though. He just nips at his earlobe - right over the little cross-stud earring, right where he knows he’s sensitive. He bucks his hips in a vain search for friction, getting only air and George chuckles, low and dark.

“What’s your name, son?”

There’s a whimper that’s almost it. George asks again and this time gets a pitiful, whined,  _ “Ben.” _

“Full name.”

He stutters through it: Benjamin Tallmadge.

“Well, Benjamin Tallmadge, turn around, put you hands on the counter and spread your legs and keep very, very still.”

The moment George lets him go, Ben snaps to comply - almost stumbling over his own feet in a rush to flip around. But once he’s there - George takes a step back and appreciates the view. Wherever Ben got those jeans from, there were far too tight. Hugging his perfect, pert ass and the lines of his lean thighs. It can’t be comfortable with how hard he clearly is and George has no interest in speeding the process along for him.

He leans down, taking a knee to run his hands up the muscle of his calf, firm and warm. He drags the touch up slowly, pressing his thumbs just hard enough at the back of his knee to make him twitch and nearly give. He strokes up the seam of his jeans, getting close enough to breath hot at his thigh. George gives it a little squeeze.

“Do you want to go to prison, Benjamin?” He asks, hands taking a palmful of each side of his ass“Do you want to get fucked by every guard, inmate, worthless scumbag that wants a piece of this tight ass?”

To emphasize his point, George gives him a short little pat. Ben shakes his head.

“N-no, sir.”

Another squeeze before George rises to stand behind him, slipping his hands along his hips - one holding him flush to Georges front, letting him feel the hardness in his uniform pants, the other cupping Ben’s own groin. Jesus, Ben’s hard - clearly enjoying the hell out of their game as he tosses his hair, shaking his head more. “I don’t want to go to prison, officer.”

He mewls when George gives him a rough, hard squeeze and then a whimper when George lets him go to sweep his palm up his chest. Ben’s shirt is too fucking tight, so he doesn’t bother trying to shove his hand up the front of it much farther than stroking the dark blonde hairs that trail down his stomach and digging his fingers into the supple skin of his stomach. 

Ben’s got just the right amount of softness there, just the right amount of hidden strength that he can feel whenever he flexes in an attempt to keep himself from pushing and grinding back against his crotch. It’s almost cute, actually, the way he tries to keep that modicum of control. George tears it away, however, with a slow roll of his hips against that lovely little ass - that tears a rippling sound, high and strained, from Ben’s throat. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ Ben keens when George drags his nails over one hard nipple, and as soon as he speaks, George tears his hands away from his body at once. A better idea forms, and he rolls with it. 

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Ben's thick, “What?” is strangled and high. 

He strengthens his voice and sets it hard and not to be trifled with, “Put your hand behind your back. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say, whimper or  _ moan _ will be held against you.” 

Confused and conflicted, Ben hesitates just a little too long but he hasn't safe-worded out yet, so George takes a small liberty and takes hold of his wrist, wrenching it back behind him. It isn't as hard as George has been with others, not by a long shot, but it still startles Ben with the obvious display of strength and he gasps. His cuffs aren't as tight as they could be, either, when he clips the cold metal around his wrists. 

His legs tremble beneath him as George pulls on the linking chain to force Ben to straighten his back enough that he can get a good grip around him to the front of his collar. He twists and pulls Ben around to face him. 

“Do you want to go to prison, Benjamin?”

“No, Officer Washington.”

George gets a good first look at Ben’s face. It’s not just pink, it’s a deep, deep red. Flushed with arousal and embarrassment and tinged so perfectly with just the right amount of fear, George gets the overwhelming urge to kiss him. But he doesn’t. Instead he pulls Ben up to the tips of his toes - stretching out the collar of his shirt with the force of his grip.

“I can think of a few things to make your time even longer: Breaking and entering, resisting arrest and, well, how  _ hot  _ and  _ hard  _ you make me with just those pretty, teasing lips? Maybe I’ll throw in assaulting a police officer too. Unless...”

He trails off, hoisting Ben higher - listening to the seams pop as he him chokes for just a moment. It lingers before he brings him down a little, “Unless you really don’t want to get booked. In which case, I might let you off with a warning if you convince me you’re very, very sorry.”

As soon as George drops him, Ben gets the message and half-topples down to his knees, unsteady without the use of his hands. But George rights him with a hand fisted in his hair - the other deftly undoing his fly and freeing his achingly hard cock with a long, relieved sigh. Ben moves to swallow him down at once, already drooling for it, but George yanks back on his hair. 

“Open,” he orders - and Ben opens. Guiding him, George drags Ben’s mouth over his cock - relishing in the slick, hot slide of his tongue (flat, pressing up with the faintest edge of pressure that he know George loves) and the way his throat flutters whenever George pushes the head of his cock against the back of it. His lips seal around the base of his cock when George shoves himself deep down his throat and by God, does he  _ suck.  _ Tears gather prettily in his lashes as he chokes and gags on a thrust that hits too deep. 

Washington pulls him off and lets him cough, lets him wheeze and waits to hear if Ben coughs up a mangled “ _ red.” _

Though, he is very impressed when instead, Ben sucks in a few breaths and opens his mouth again. His lips are slick and swollen and saliva dribbles down his chin and George wastes no time pushing himself back into that welcoming heat.

It’s not long after that, watching Ben willingly let George pull at fistfulls of his hair to gag himself on George’s cock, that he’s got to tug him off - one hand dragging over his own spit-slick shaft until he paints his release across the bridge of his nose and over those pretty, plump lips. 

There’s a moment, and then many more, before either of them speak. George lets Ben fall back against the cabinets, he tucks his soft cock away and looks down at the mess he’s made. 

“How was that, Officer?” Ben asks, his voice raw but his tone still cocky. 

The little shit. George casts an eye down to the still-evident bulge in Ben’s jeans. It looks like he hasn’t flagged a bit and really, sending this kid back out into the night with a raging boner is irresponsible. So Washington curls his fingers back into the front of his shirt and heaves him to his wobbling feet. He might use a little more force than necessary to slam him against the counter-top, but Ben’s not complaining at the jarring movement. 

He's not complaining as George reaches around and pops the button on his jeans and tugs the zipper down. In fact, he's moaning - filled with a reckless abandon and a desperation now, Ben's pushing back against George’s groin making him really wish he was twenty years younger and could get it up that fast again. 

But no amount of wishing to be inside that tight ass can make that happen - so he’s gotta make do. 

“Look at you, you filthy fucking slut,” he snarls, shoving Ben’s jeans and boxer-briefs down at the same time. He wraps his hand around Ben’s cock, twisting his palm over the head - already wet enough to practically be dripping. “God, I’ve seen anything so disgusting in my life - bent over, moaning to get fucked. You wanna get fucked, Tallmadge? I bet you’re dying for a cock right now, something thick and hard to fill you up - I bet you want to get this ass pounded by a c- oh.”

He loses his place and his thought as his fingers come back to toy with his hole. Instead of the hot flesh, he’s met with warm still-slick silicone. Oh most certainly is right. 

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?” He bites, dragging his fingers around the flared base of the plug and, instead of pulling it out, he grinds his palm against it - jostling the toy. Ben keens under him, but not as loudly as he does when George twists it. “That’s right, you wanted to get caught, you wanted to get railed against the counters - you goddamn whore, maybe I should throw you in a cell. Then you’d get what you wanted, stuffed full of dick until you can’t breath. One right after another, until you’re just dripping and you can’t come anymore.”

Ben’s cock twitches with want and George files that away for later as he takes his hand back from where he toys with the plug and instead, brings it down hard against one asscheek and then the other. “But that wouldn’t teach you a lesson, would it, Tallmadge? You’d enjoy it far too much.” Ben arches and sags and tenses and relaxes in hard, long waves with each slap of George’s hand across his ass. It certainly doesn’t help that he clenches around the plug every time and George lets that hot spike of pleasure at watching Ben torture himself grown and burn. It isn’t until he’s sufficiently warmed up and pink that George pulls back and - keeping one hand on Ben’s head to keep him from seeing - pulls the nightstick from its holster and brings it across the meat of Ben’s ass in one smooth motion.

George is glad his neighbors are out for the weekend when Ben’s sharp, high wail sounds out loud enough to echo. He gives him a moment, a breath, before he strikes him again. Ben’s entire body convulses with it, his cock leaking from the tip. 

His chest his heaving, George’s with heavy, hard breaths and Ben’s with shuddering, hitching sobs. When the idea strikes, George moves without hesitation - pressing the tip of the baton to the base of the plug. He gives it a gentle little tap, then drags the baton over the rise of Ben’s ass. 

It’s going to bruise.

_ Good,  _ George thinks.  _ Let him remember.  _

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson, Benjamin?” He asks, voice frighteningly steady.

Ben sniffles and hiccups as he tries to respond. It takes him a few tries before he manages: “Yes, Officer Washington.”

“Do you want me to stop, Benjamin?”

“No, Officer Washington.”

There's a convenient packet of lube in Ben’s back pocket, poking out where his jeans are bunched down at his knees, and George plucks it out with a sigh. “Of course you have lube, why would I assume a filthy thing like you wouldn’t? All you are is a hole, Benjamin, it’s time you knew your place.”

George tears the packet open and tugs the toy free slowly, setting it down neatly on the counter. 

He talks while he slicks up the length of the nightstick. “Nothing but a warm body, something to fill with come and slap around. That’s what you are Benjamin, a filthy thing.”

The stick itself is cool, and he can see Ben stiffen from head to toe when he pushes the tip of it against his hole. It sinks in smoothly and Ben pushes himself up to the tips of his toes - shoving his own face harder against the counter top. George works it slowly, twisting his wrist on each push in - letting it get another small bit deeper into him, adjusting his hold to shift and find the spot that makes Ben’s entire body go tense for a moment. 

“This is all you’re good for,” George promises, fucking his nightstick into Ben with a bit more strength behind it, “You’re not going to get touched, Benjamin - if you want to come, it has to be like this.”

The response he gets is a whimper, and George doesn’t cave. He just presses deeper, harder, at a better angle. It takes longer, of course, but the way Ben’s breath picks up and the way he writhes and tries to push back and tries to twist to a better position is such a sweet sight. George doesn’t reprimand him for pushing himself back on the nightstick, taking it deeper and harder and he doesn’t reprimand him for coming all over his cabinets. 

George carefully slides the baton free and lets it drop with a light clatter. He strokes Ben’s back, first, letting him shudder and twitch out the aftershocks of his orgsam before he unlocks his cuffs.

“Hush, baby, don’t move yet,” He tells him when Ben goes immediately to pull his arms back, “C’mere.” 

He gathers up Ben into his arms, already feeling the guilt start to fester as he sees the tear-tracked cheeks and the bloodshot eyes for the first time George carefully moves Ben’s arms back to his chest so he can cradle them himself as Ben burrows into George’s uniform. He needs to take it to the cleaners tomorrow anyway, he knew it would get messy, he doesn’t care. 

“I’ve got you,” George whispers into the sweat-drenched, tangled hair while Ben slowly comes down.

It could be minutes or years before Ben sniffles into his chest and mutters something.

“What?” George asks, pulling back a little to look at him, thumbing away stray tears.

“I asked if you’re okay.”

“I’m…” He trails off, looking down at Ben - with his damp eyes and the come still clinging to his cheeks. He’s sure Ben must feel worse, in actual, physical pain - but George has never felt particularly wonderful once he’s come down from that high. “Let’s get you to bed. I can carry you.”

He cleans Ben up better, salving his bruises and his slightly-aching shoulders and - once that’s done, Ben scoots up the bed and brings George’s head to his chest. They fall asleep like that and tomorrow, Ben will drop the uniform off at the drycleaners, George will pick a documentary on Netflix and they’ll fall asleep on the couch and ten-fifteen. 

Properly boring.


End file.
